Stockholm Syndrome
by nooses
Summary: They know about me! Of course! Stan Marsh, the most vile, degenerate, humiliating piece of trash scum to ever pop out of society's proverbial asshole. [ craig/kenny ] [ onesided stan/craig, stan/kenny ]
1. Chapter 1

**I don't even want to post this because I'm still learning how to write corrctly because I'm a BIG DUMB. And I honestly suck at writing, so. I'm sorry.**

**Had a nice idea! Thought about Stan's immense drinking problem and his depression. Put that together with a bunch of pills he (most likely) gets prescribed. Outcome? This, apparently. **

**Also, TW for the descriptions about what happened to Kyle. in later chapters I needed something to fuel his depression even more, IDK. ? Kyle ded. Or something. I'm still debating on if I should do that or not. Or if Kyle just got fed up with Stan's constant spew of bullshit progressing from his anus to his mouth and just up and left. LOL.**

**Everything is not as it seems, Stan.**

* * *

I like myself.

At least, I think I do.

I'm not sure if others like me just as much as I think. Who tends to dwell on that fact so much, though? Aren't we all occupied with something else? School? Relationships? Maintain a high social life with absolutely no standards when concerning parents and who you're going to sleep with? I like to think of myself as...optimistic! My therapist would think otherwise.

I mean. Everything is moving so fast. I don't know how to process much of my high school life. I'm already going to college at the age of 18. Can you believe that? You probably can. It's not a big achievement or anything, not to say I'm not proud of myself for actually pushing through and getting it done. The day I graduated, my therapist bought me a cake and gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me, "Well done, Stan!"

I think I was happy.

My therapist, Mrs. Dorana-she insists I call her Polly-has been more of a mother figure than anything. After my mom and dad got in a fight and my dad just left, things haven't been the same. My mom's happiness dwindled into a deep depression and. I don't know what to do for her. Everything is hurting my head. How is Kyle? I should call him. He's lonely. He's gone. They dismembered him. I miss him. Where's Cartman? He overdosed, huh? Should I kiss Kenny and Craig today? They're cute. They're cute and happy and a couple and I should really stop having these weird homo gay faggot queer thoughts about them but I can't because they're cute and it's hurting me inside and whenever Kenny smiles it lights up my whole day and did you know his favorite ice cream is pistachio and Craig has braces which he hides because he's embarrassed and his dimples indent in ways thatCURLUPMYINTESTINES. Smile, blush, hide. Smile, blush and hide. Smile blush hide. Smileblushhide. They do it a lot. I don't think they know about me. I mean. They know about me! Of course! Stan Marsh, the most vile, degenerate, humiliating piece of trash scum to ever pop out of society's proverbial asshole.

That's me.

You guys probably know about Kyle, Kenny, Cartman, and I, huh? We all split up in time. Kenny ventured off with Craig and Clyde to go do...whatever. Stupid shit, probably. I heard they set a house on fire. I heard they killed animals. I heard they got bored and started killing humans. I loathe them for their bravery. I doubt Kenny would do it, though. Kenny's nice and his hair is soft and he reminds me of the sun. The sun. Shining bright and illuminating and making you feel warm all over. I love Kenny. No. I'm in love with Kenny. It's disgusting. Polly is trying to help me get over it. She understands the pain it brings me to see him with the other boy I'm in love with.

Cartman wondered off somewhere. As soon as the incident with Kyle happened we all just sort of. Ignored Cartman. Cartman and Kenny were close as they got older, too. It was pretty sad to see them go their separate ways. I'm pretty sure they've fucked a few times. Here I am, still a virgin in all. Maybe Wendy is up for being a grade A no-strings-attached booty call. A spur of the moment. Does she hate me? I think she does hate me. She has cute boobs. A nice butt. Her hair is so soft and long how does she keep it that way? She hates me.

Who am I kidding.

_I hate me._

Polly tells me my self loathing is just another way of me getting better. I doubt it. I don't think it's healthy. This is why I see a therapist, right? So she can help me get out of my non-healthy and nasty habits? It's like she's doing the opposite. I think she's wearing down my self esteem. Or just plain out WEARING it. Like a necklace, placed neatly above her pale freckled neck like some sort of prize she won at a big competition. I could just imagine her finely painted nails curling up over the chain and her smirking, tsking about how she was proud of herself for grabbing my amazing self proclaimed and HYPOTHETICAL self-esteem. Showing it off. FUCK, Polly. Kenny told me to never trust therapists. They were evil, and they "ain't knowin' what they're actually talkin' about, dude!" His nose twitched as his own name was called to see his therapist. I've seen her a couple of times! She's tall and painted like chocolate with wavy brown hair that comes up to the mid of her back. Much, much, much more prettier than my therapist is. But it's not a competition, is it? She smells like sex and chocolate and I'm sure Kenny is fucking around with her knockers.

I wish he would fuck around with my knockers. Craig picks Kenny up from the office every Thursday at 3pm. He wears his usual blue chullo. He usually wears red converse. Kenny kisses him on the cheek, whispers something in his ear and then they're on their way. This last Thursday, Craig came early. He sat next to me. "What's up, Marsh." He said, raising one of his _perfectlytrimmedlgoriousfantasticBEAUTIFUL_ eyebrows. I swallow everything. My pride, my love, my eagerness to sit on his lap and trail kisses from his jaw to the bulge of his pants. "Waiting."

He just hums in response and gives me a look.

It was honestly the most pathetic, yet ME response I could muster at that exact moment. Kenny comes out and Craig stands, grinning, taking the blondes hand. I feel jealousy rise inside of me. I don't know who I'm jealous of.

They leave without saying a word.


	2. Chapter 2

It has been days, weeks, months, and I've yet to sink my nails into the game I'm playing. My therapist is lying to me, talking to me. Everything's crumbling. Everything is crumbling, just like my sanity, just like my mind, just like my whole life after the incident which no one want's to talk about. I'm from a whole line of people who don't give a fuck! It's useless, just like me. Just like the branches which hold the portraits of my elders, of the people who raised and birthed me, of the people who set me up for disappointment and let me go into this God awful world...

They're right when they say the real world is a tough place. I'm on so much medication it's hard to think half the time. Stan Marsh, is my name. I bite my tongue to remember it. I like myself. At least, I think I do. Right? Listen to this word of advice I have for you. Trust no one. Trust no one, not even those whom you consider to be your closest friends. Because they aren't. They're manipulative, and they'll spit every putrid thing you've thought about them right back into your face. What do I do without friends? What do I do without two men to punch myself in the face over? Right, right. Craig and Kenny. They're cool. They're around. They caught on, they know! All because I'm stupid and I got a tooth knocked out and I'm on some type of anesthetic or I was and I spilled some stuff and they thought it was funny and now I'm a laughing stock. I'm a laughing stock, aren't I? I always will be.

For the time I was conked out and haven't talked to you guys, I've gotten a few messages I wanted to discuss. Share, open, a little bit of everything. My friend, Kyle, messaged me. I didn't think he was still alive. You see, around fifteen years of age, Kyle got into a bad car accident that led him into having to use a wheelchair for the rest of his seemingly boring life. That was three years ago. Cartman was driving, we were all there. Of course, Cartman and Kyle's small feud couldn't hold for the moment as we were turning, Cartman wasn't paying enough attention and. Boom. My head was bleeding. I was covered in blood that was not mine, but I couldn't-I can't figure out whose it was. It wasn't Kyle's nor Cartman's. Was Kenny with us? My head hurts.

He said, "Hey, Stan, long time no talk, dude. I'm doing good in case you were wondering. How are you? Still seeing your therapist, I hope?"

How do I respond to that. I'm pathetic, I could barely even muster up a sentiment that would pin his sympathy for me as kids. Life is rough and I don't want to live in it anymore but what other choice do I have. I want to commit a murder, I want to rob a store! I'm already going to Hell, what more am I looking for in this world? I need to contact Craig, or Clyde, or even Kenny for Jesus Christ's sake. I need to...do things that I want to do instead of being super glued to a computer chair all day.

But it's not going to happen.

I'll always be pathetic. I'll always be stuck on the same things. My head will always be illuminated by a screen with many pictures and colors moving off of it. I'll always be too lazy to shower or shave and my therapist will always comment on how I need to. She'll always comment on how I need to boost my pills or how I look worse and worse and worse and worse and worse every single time I visit her old ass. I might as well write a shitty BOTDF-esque song and dwell in my problems as an emo kid who just can't find his sole purpose in the world. Because he doesn't have one. I'll take a swig of whiskey to that one, I will, I'll never hear the end of it in my hollow mind from the voices that plague it. They're screeching and whispering and hey, look, what's in the fridge?

My self confidence and general control of what I do, is what. I think this every time I drink. They say pills don't mix well with alcohol, but if anything, I feel better than I have in so many years when I do it. Though, I get a wicked nasty hangover afterwords, and my stomach isn't as happy as it could be whenever I wake up. One day I'm going to die like that and I'm so prepared for it. I even have a suicide note and everything, though it's hidden in some place I forgot about. Maybe they'll raid my room whenever I die and happen to find it. Will it make my mom, or Shelly, happier? Maybe, probably, most likely. I'll be down in Hell, getting tortured and throwing massive parties at Satan's pad. I mean, I am kind of part hellspawn after all. You know that whole shenanigan possession-type-of-deal? That was crazy. I have nightmares about it.

"Whoa, hey, dude! I'm fine as well...a lot better than before, you know? Yeah, still seeing the same old shitty therapist. Anything new?" Is what I type to Kyle. I am holding a beer in one hand and a smirk is on my face and my other hand is calmly placed on the keyboard. He read the message. Now he is typing. I turn off my computer before I could see anything else.

That is for another day.


End file.
